A thousand objections swirl around his mind, but not a single one seems strong enough to make it past his tongue. Years of experience in saying no to Hawke should have been enough to help him retain his guard but in one slow, measured motion, she has shattered it all. For all the reasons he can come up with to leave, to push her away, to cling to Justice like a shield, protecting him from the vague concept that one of them might be hurt by this, he can't bring himself to say a thing. Looking dumbfounded, he's sure if he opened his mouth any wider the only word that would come tumbling out would be yes yes yes. Yes.
Her delicate hand conveys the surety of her strong will as she takes charge in the least forceful way and he finds himself drawn to her in every conceivable way. Hawke's touch slides along his arms, up to the shoulder and he melts into it.
Somewhere his brain is crying out to him, telling him to be respectful, hold back, to give her a chance to change her mind. He must have the situation misread; after all, this soft stranger is not the explosive magic wielding personality he's grown accustomed to. But he knows better than that, this is the softness she reserves only for him and he knows enough to recognize it. He just wishes he could be wrong, since the implications of the alternative are scarier than facing down pride demons.
Guided toward her slender body stretched out on the cot, he tries to adjust himself, to lay beside her, leave her with what he perceives to be a modicum of control but she is unyielding in making her desires clear. The experience is utterly surreal, a scene torn from the recesses of his most cherished dreams. Hawke in real life is warmer, softer, and real. Better than anything he could have conjured up in his mind.
The weight of humidity feels real, pressing around them, pushing them closer together. He strains against the half-damp breeches protecting his modesty. Everything feels thick, close, and they are even closer now.
Anders knows he would do anything to preserve this moment forever, but not here. This is Hawke, his Hawke, and she deserves more than he can give her here tonight. Though he may never be able to give her the life he feels she deserves, full of fine silks and publicly lavished attention, he can at least give her more than a broken down cot and thin linen sheets.
"Anders…" the soft rush of her breath against his cheek was his undoing, before he had time to think about it, his mouth was on hers.
The kiss that began as a mere brush of lips came crashing over them like a wave. Hawke's hands embed themselves deep in his hair as his arms snake around her waist, effectively closing the barely existent distance between them. He wants to crush her to him, wrap her in his arms and devour her with the power of all these years of longing, but he resists, restrains himself, instead allowing her to silently control the situation.
When the two can disentangle themselves for more than a breath, Anders manages to smirk lightly at the woman in his arms on the cramped little cot. "You know I'd worry about you walking all the way back to Hightown tonight, especially in your injured state…" he quipped quietly, gently resting his forehead against hers.
"Oh? And what would my healer recommend?"
"You could always…"
"Stay?"
"Please." He whispered, kissing her deeply once more.Tonight he will sleep comfortably in silence lulled by the soft hush of her breathing, without the voices in his head. Tonight: she is enough.
